Mail

Driving home from work today, I see a man; perhaps he was not yet elderly, but the hobble in his gait shows me that he's seen some time pass him by. He is thick in the stomach, thin in the arms, and has slight bits of brown peering out from the thin layers of white hair on his head, atop which are perched reading glasses, unused but waiting. 

He is just coming to the end of his driveway, arms fully outstretched to the plain white and rusty box atop brown and crooked post wherein he expects to find laying his mail for the day. He does not take the extra painful step to stand fully in front of the treasure chest, but leans dangerously from the side, flipping the door open and giving inside a longing glance. From the caving of his shoulders, the hang of his head, and the heave of an exhale, I know there is no mail for him. He inches closed the small door and pushes his hand down onto the mailbox for stability as he turns to head back to his house. 

 As the road curves and I leave him behind me, I spare him a quick glance in the rear view mirror to see the effort he puts into his steps; surely he cannot not make the excursion to his mailbox but once daily, for he seems to ache with every movement. He has been looking forward to receipt of something, anything, with great expectation, and was disappointed, just as every other day. Our lives juxtaposed, the phone in my pocket buzzes and the sound of another piece of junk email arrives to my inbox, the ease of only a fingertip's flick away and screaming for my attention. The accessibility of trash is unnerving, and my shoulders cave and my head hangs as I exhale, knowing my inbox is overflowing with things I don't want to read. The old man would be ecstatic to find a single piece of crinkled paper in his mailbox.

Make Life Interesting

Sometimes, life is pretty boring. The routine of everyday life grinds away at one’s physique and mind, depressing those whose childhood dreams of grandeur and adventure are no longer even shadows on the horizon. The aspiring astronaut is now nothing more than a dock worker, the princess a bank clerk, and the police officer a café manager. Not always amazing and exciting, true, but more often than not, life is a comfortable lull like floating on a raft down a lazy river. I had been working and going to school for years on end—a boring eternity it seemed—never breaking routine, never missing a day, never waking up with excitement in my stomach, or a break in schedule to look forward to. But the rapids were ahead. 

BAM! All of the sudden, with no warning, I found myself falling out of a plane. The door opened, the noise of the wind rushing by suddenly grew louder and intense, and the strong sturdy ground to which I had become accustomed was now but a pattern of different colored patches like the quilt on my mother’s bed. Very far away. The first few seconds of the fall were wild, twirling, whirling, spinning hours as I saw the ground seemingly not come rushing at me from 10,000 feet away, then the horizon, then the plane silhouetted against a bright blue sky, then the ground then the sky, then the ground.  As my fall stabilized and I got my bearings, I realized that I should probably start enjoying myself. Then, a kind of peace. Oh, I was still moving, and very quickly at that, but as I reached terminal velocity, the nearly 60 meters a second I was moving towards the ground, I felt no impact on my body, for we can only interpret a change in speed or direction. I was floating, weightless and carefree as the cold wind rushed by me and numbed my hands. A smile formed. The parachute opened.

But back to the routine I went; the work, the school, the drudgeries of life. For a few days, my life was enhanced as I told people of my experience, but the excitement was soon dissipated and drowned by those people who had not had an amazing experience to lift them out of their dull lives recently. I was soon quickly pulled back to the lazy river. But again, my life was about to change. Even having been skydiving, the biggest adrenaline rush I’ve ever had was with my two feet on solid ground, on a patchy grass pitch in Fullerton, California. A mere week earlier, my good friend and house mate, also a foreign exchange student from Switzerland had approached me. 

“Matt,” he said, in his very thick Swiss-German accent, “let us go play Rugby.” I laughed and the words, 

“I don’t know the first thing about Rugby.” formed in my mouth. 

“Neither do I.” he said. So we joined the Santa Barbara City College Rugby team. I had been to two practices and was still completely unsure of the rules when game day arrived. The drive to Fullerton from Santa Barbara was a couple hours of traffic, stuck in a van with my teammates legs squished up against mine as we all tried to nap after the huge breakfast we had all downed at IHOP. We did a lap, then warmed up, and I took my place on the sidelines to watch, knowing full well that my lack of experience, knowledge, and skill would have me there until I proved myself. A few minutes in, the coach called my name. 

“Alright Matt,” he said in his thick Aussie accent, “You’re going in at the next break of play.” I started to protest, unsure of myself, but he said, “The best way to learn is to do.” So I found myself on a field with 29 other men, most bigger than myself, holding a large, strangely shaped ball and running not knowing what the hell I was doing. The game progressed. Then, I saw him. He was on the other team and he had the ball. He was big, much bigger than myself—probably had 100 pounds on me, and it was 100 pounds of toned muscle, not blubbery fat. He was running straight at me. He wasn’t stopping. There are few things more frightening than seeing something much bigger and stronger than you are, coming at you full speed. Suddenly, everything became very bright. The noise of the crowd and the players around me disappeared. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The animalistic part of my brain shouted “Flight!” but my will overcame. Fight! Feet planted. Arms Spread. Back lowered. Mouth biting on mouth guard. Legs coiled like a spring holding tension, ready to explode at any second. Closer he came. Now! Go! Legs pushed forward. I wrapped. I held. He kept going. Not tackled by me, no, but I slowed him down enough for three of my teammates to catch up and finish the job. Quick, get up! Back in position. Hold! Run! Tackle! Hold! Run! Tackle!  I’ve been in love with Rugby ever since.

Funnily enough, another adrenaline rush comes from something that those who have not experienced it would not believe. It is not a physical feat, nor a dangerous act. Weeks of effort have been put into this day, this moment. Hours of fretting and strange looks on the bus as I hold the pieces of paper that have been highlighted over and over again. Now though, I hear the voices of the people in the other room hush as the lights dim. Instead of the drone of a hundred people, suddenly there are only two speaking clearly with each other. They speak. A laugh from the hushed people. More speaking. More laughing. There it is, my cue! I feel my legs pulling me onto the stage. Bright lights blind me as I glance into the audience and see only silhouettes of heads. My line, say it! It’s been practiced so many times and I say it. A laugh from the audience. My line, my partner’s lines, my lines. Oh shit! I don’t know my next line! What is it? It’s my turn to speak. The other actors look at me expectantly. WHAT IS IT? My mouth blurts it out; thankfully, correctly. I know I have something else to say after this, but I’m still not sure what it is! Again, my mouth blurts it. Muscle memory is an amazing thing. The scene continues, so surreal. I can feel myself doing things without thinking about them. This is acting. I’m someone else. The scene finishes. We leave the stage. We smile and share hugs, just thankful we didn’t screw up. Somehow, I’m in control again and I’m myself. Being on stage is like a possession, and finishing the scene is the exorcism. A tough battle that, when won, feels so freeing. 

A break from every day routine to experience an intense flash of emotion is too important to pass up. It reminds us that life doesn’t have to be boring, and gives us something to look forward to as we drudge through our everyday lives. Even those who aren’t adrenaline junkies like me should still find the things to pull themselves out of the boringness that is everyday life so as to keep their sanity. While we spend the majority of our lives doing mundane things, we need something to keep us looking forward to so that we don’t get lost on the lazy river, feel our raft bump into the shore in shallow water, and let complacency overrun us as the water rushes over the sides. 

Fireworks

I like watching fireworks. There's just something about getting your senses stimulated that is pleasing to the body and the mind. I like seeing the pretty colors as the light blossoms across the sky, each little flare's pathway quickly rises and reaches it's apex, shattering the night sky and afterwards following a lulling, lazy arc towards the ground as it's work is finished. Their lives are short and end in dead ash, but they are brilliant.

I like to hear the pops just a split second after I see them; the less time the better, cause that means I'm super close. Sure, the sights and the sounds are amazing, but the part that I really enjoy is to FEEL the sound hit me. It sets off car alarms, vibrates the roof that I'm sitting on and the people around me, and I can feel it pierce into my bones as my whole body is saturated with the firework's power.

As I watch, my mind wanders to the physics of fireworks, and the chemistry, and the work and money it takes to put such a show on as well as other things indescribable. An eighteen minute show that wasn't too shabby, and probably the best finale I've ever seen in my life leaves plenty of time to think about life.

As the whistlers go up, up, up, and I feel the shock waves from the multiple fireworks exploding simultaneously, I'm glad that these are merely meant for entertainment, and not actual shells meant to fall on American soil. So many works are fired, that the sky is lit and I can see clearly, almost as bright as day, all my surroundings. It brings such new meaning to the words "And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there."

'Murica, I guess you're alright for now. Happy birthday.

Parking Spots

I've felt it finally.  The power. It feels so good. You see, the parking at my school can be rather nightmare-ish if you are trying to get a good parking spot. I mean, sure, there are tons of spots available to those who are willing to walk a good 10 or 15 minutes across campus to the parking lots out in the boonies, but who wants to do that--really?

It feels so good though, as I'm walking to my car after class, late morning or mid afternoon. I've been up early enough to  get a good parking spot, so  I deserve the  good ones. I'll be walking, and I'll hear it. The sound of the cars behind me. First I'll hear the car way behind me, going slow enough to be reasonable for the posted speed limit, but definitely faster than the speed limit. Then, the sound will suddenly die down as it creeps up behind me, going slower than I walk, just so it can stay behind me without appearing to scope me out and piss off the other drivers who certainly saw me walking first, and are speeding over to be the first in line behind me. There is soon a triad or more of vultures hovering behind me, waiting for my parking spot. When they realize that my pace isn't slowing, they become impatient and head over to the next bloody carcass to scavenge.

Sometimes, if I see a particularly large line of cars following me, i'll bend down to meticulously tie both my shoes and check my backpack to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. Occasionally I'll stop, looking perplexed, pretending I've forgotten where I parked my car (sometimes not actually pretending), and even more occasionally, I'll get into my car and sit there for a few minutes while the line backs up. I'm evil. But I like the power.

It feels good to know that I have all these people willing to do anything for my spot. They will follow me around as long as it takes, so long as they have an opportunity to fight for my spot. Five or six people at a time, waiting in line, just for me. I could do anything I wanted, flip them off, moon them, take an hour, and they would still want my spot.

I guess now I know what it's  like to be a woman.

Adding Up Those Bucks

So, after writing my Just a Buck entry, I started thinking about the things you can buy with a dollar. It's pretty sad, actually, but even going to a dollar store, the things that are actually a dollar are few and far between. I kind of want to start suing every dollar store that I find for false advertising, but I'm too lazy.

Now, I like  nice things, don't get me wrong, but I also hate spending large amounts of money on things that I could buy for cheaper. Ok fine, I guess that makes me stingy, but I like to think of it as thrifty. I was amazed, as I was grocery shopping the other day, to see a semi-large pack of licorice on sale for a dollar, so I quickly grabbed it and threw it in my basket along with my staples. At another store, I saw these "throw blankets" on sale for a dollar each, and it seemed like a great steal so I grabbed two of those. Hey, just a dollar each, right!?!

Finding something to buy that is actually a dollar is like finding a little treasure, and something in my brain just goes "You MUST capitalize on this NOW!" So I do. Well, before I knew it, I'd probably spent $10 on one dollar items. Those sneaky stores! They are really good at finding ways to take my money.

I wonder how much money I've spent on one dollar items when it's all added up. Probably at least a couple thousand dollars in my life.

I guess every buck really does count.

Just a Buck

I don't carry cash very often. Occasionally I'll pull a twenty out of the ATM when I know that I'm going to a poker game, a restaurant where I'm going to need to tip, or a place that I know only accepts cash, but for the most part its plastic only. The last time I got cash out of an ATM was probably 2 months ago.

I pulled a twenty out then, and have been spending it down over the pas couple months at random places when I didn't want to or couldn't use my card. $20 to $15, then to $8, and then to $4, and finally to $1. Just one. No change left over even. A single dollar. In fact, I forgot I had it most of the time. Every time I opened my wallet I would see that single lonely bill just sitting there, waiting to be used. But  it  didn't mean much to me, even the extremely poor college student that I am. I mean, what can you buy with a dollar these days anyway?

A worthless dollar.

However, as I exited the grocery store today to see the fairly well dressed pregnant woman uncomfortably approach me and explain that her credit card didn't work and she needed gas to get back home--even a dollar would help--my mind immediately flew to the single lonely bill. The worthless dollar. The dollar that meant so much to this woman whose watery eyes were begging for anything. I opened up my wallet and gave  her all the cash I had. One dollar. She sounded so grateful as she gingerly placed the bill in her purse and thanked me.

On the way home I was thinking. I carried that worthless bill around for weeks. It started off a beautiful crisp twenty, and as time progressed it  became smaller  and smaller until the single wrinkled denomination became the backdrop to my wallet. But it still had a purpose. The whole time I was carrying around that extra 1.00 grams of paper so that I could give it to her and she could get  home. Every time I went to school, it was with me. Every time I went to practice, it was with me. Every time I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and carelessly tossed it on my desk before I went to sleep, the dollar was in there. Waiting. The  twenty became  reduced because I wanted a pack of gum from the gas  station, and further because of an In-N-Out burger, and even further because of a chocolate bar, but the whole time, that one dollar was saving itself for someone that really needed it.

A priceless dollar.

I know someone out there  is carrying a dollar for me. I'm going to need it someday, and  I'll be very grateful.

Crying.

I'll have you know, I cry a lot. ALL the time. Probably every day. WOAH, stop judging me already, jeeze. It's not like, ALL the time, all the time. Just like, all the time. Or more like, just sometimes. Occasionally. ONCE in a while. I mean, not VERY often, like really, barely at all. Once in a blue moon. Yea, that's the one. I like, NEVER cry. I'm still like, SUPER manly and stuff. I could start going into all the details, but I like to think of myself as not-conceited so I shall hold off for the time being. If you really want to know, just shoot me a message and I shall indulge myself, erm, you, in listing all of my manly qualities. But, back to bawling my eyes out whenever I watch "How I Met Your Mother."

Did I let that slip? Whoops, I meant, back to how I barely cry at all. QUICK! Just imagine me grunting a lot and lifting some heavy things and hopefully the image of me curled up in a blanket with a cup of tea, bawling whenever something emotional happens in that show, will quickly dissapate. Not that that's a real image or anything.

Ok, but really, I do. Just don't tell anyone. I used to never cry during movies. For the first twenty-some-odd years of my life, the only 2 movies that I had cried for were: "The Bucket List", and "Click." Then, along came "Up." and tons of other movies that I can't even think of right now cause I'm starting to tear up just thinking about those first few minutes of "Up." Gimme a second.

Ok, thanks. I'm ready to continue.

I'm not sure what it is that makes me so emotional. That scene is just so perfect and they are so happy and then she dies and he is so sad and it's just...

Ok, no, I need another second. :'(

Ok, ready. Maybe.

Anyway, let's leave "Up" behind lest I start crying again. Onto: "How I Met Your Mother." That show is amazing. I swear this isn't a shameless plug that I'm getting paid for; it's really just amazing. The humor is amazing, and ridiculous, and that was the reason that I started watching it, but soon I found myself crying and I didn't know why. And I kept watching.

It's weird, because even though these characters aren't real, I still love them. Probably more than most actual people I know, but like I said, they don't exist. I mean, I'm sure I could find some people who are extremely similar to the characters on the show, but these characters aren't simply words being personified by actors on a screen, they are archetypes.

I cry for them because each of these archetypes contains a part of me, and I can relate to them so well. I see myself in their situations and empathize with them. The situations that they are put in, though exaggerated, are just like situations from my own life. A little too exact sometimes. It's creepy.

I guess, in the end, when I'm crying for them, I'm really crying for me.

Being in Love. With everyone.

When I love someone:

I don't sigh at them.
I don't laugh at them.
I don't talk bad about them.
I don't ignore them.
I don't harm them.
I don't cheat on them.
I don't steal from them.
I don't lie to them.
I don't agitate them.
I don't disrespect their desires.
I don't let my annoyances surface.

I would be patient with them.
I would get up at 3am and pick them up if they needed a ride.
I would give them my chocolate, even if I wanted it.
I would listen to their ideas and problems.
I would help them do work they can't do, even if I don't want to.
I would cry with them.
I would do anything in my power to make them happy.
I would do the dishes every morning for them.
I would drop anything I was doing to be with them.
I would lend them my favorite expensive bike.

I don't love everyone, unfortunately.

I realized, the other day, when I treated someone sub-optimally, that I didn't treat them poorly because I disliked or hated them--it was merely because I didn't love them. I need to love everyone, even the people that are annoying, or have wronged me, and especially the people I don't ever want to see again. They don't deserve to be treated poorly. Everyone deserves to be loved.

If I am not treating someone the way that I would treat the person that I'm in love with, then I'm not treating them good enough.

The End of the world

I kind of hope the world ends on December 21. If it does, there will be so much less I have to worry about. There isn't much to look forward to right now.

A Strong Dislike

I strongly dislike using that one word in this situation. The one that means I really strongly dislike something, but is a level or two up from strongly dislike. It's not that I'm afraid to say it--I say it all the time--but I strongly dislike using it when referring to a person. I don't really think that way about anyone in particular, but I do strongly dislike people in general. Maybe I wouldn't strongly dislike people so much if they changed; I don't think it's the people I strongly dislike so much as the actions that they choose. Now that I think about it, there are some people who I used to strongly dislike that I don't anymore, because they changed.

But then there are the people who haven't changed. I strongly dislike them. The people that I strongly dislike even more than the people who haven't changed, are the people who have changed for the worse. They aren't even on the same playing field as me, but I'm forced to play with them. It's frustrating when people ignore the rules, especially when I play by them. Maybe if I break the rules I won't get penalized either. I kinda wanna go get high, and steal, and break hearts and fuck, use people for my own gain and take what I want when I want it and forgo my responsibilities. They do.

I'm sick of holding my tongue, I'm sick of being nice and doing the right thing. I'm sick of watching my actions so I'm not a hypocrite, and I'm sick of being there for people.

Nobody else holds their tongue, nobody else is nice or does the right thing, nobody else practices what they preach, nobody else is there for me.

I'm not perfect, but I do try to hold my tongue. I try to be nice and do the right thing. I do watch my actions so I'm not a hypocrite. I'm there for people more than they know,  or seem to care. If nobody considers what they do to others, there is no hope for the world. I'm not a faucet, I'm a small cup with only a dribble left to share.

I hate people.

Excuse me. Strongly dislike.

Maybe I'm just an old man jealous of other people's fortune.

Or Maybe I'm jealous of other people's ability to ignore the rules.

Maybe I need to scar my conscience to live in a society with selfish people.

Maybe I'm going to be a hermit. The more I'm around people, the more I'm  disgusted and discouraged.

Maybe I just need to find the right people. Where are you?

It's Pathetic...

...how I've become so apathetic.

Towards everything.

A bummer, really. I need to find passion again. It got crushed and I lost it.

I don't know where to find it anymore--it's not really something I can just go pick up at the store.

I don't even seem to care that I lost it.

Sleep

I love  sleeping. Sleeping feels so good. When I'm tired, and I get to the end of the day, barely pushing on, sometimes I'll take a nap before I go to sleep. I'll take a nap in the morning, in between classes, on the bus to school, at work in the car driving to a job, in class, in the afternoons. The body doesn't function well on not a lot of sleep--it's so necessary.

There have been studies done wherein the subjects were sleep deprived. These people's bodies began to break down much quicker, and they became extremely violent, moody, and in some cases they developed insanity and other mental illnesses.Often I feel like I'm not getting enough sleep. It's nobody's fault but my own of course. Maybe I'm driving myself to insanity.

But getting to a bed after a long day is amazing. You can just fall on the bed, knowing that  it's over and you don't have to stay awake anymore; you can just succumb to the sleep. Of course, sometimes I sleep not because of physical  exhaustion but  emotional exhaustion. I'm sad,  frustrated, lonely and drained, and nothing will fix  it.

Sometimes life is going so badly that I don't want to deal with anything so I sleep more. Less time awake is less time thinking. Less time thinking is less time feeling.

I think I'm going to sleep right  now.

Sleep is my escape.

10,000 hours.

I heard somewhere that to become a master at something, anything, you have to spend 10,000 hours doing it. After 10,000 hours of practice practice practice, it  finally clicks for your mind or your body and you are able to do whatever it is, proficiently. That is 1.14 years  straight  of doing something, no sleeping no eating,  no resting, just doing. That is 4.8 years of working at something for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, 52  weeks  a year. If only I had that kind of free time and dedication.

Have  I ever spent  that much time doing anything? No. Unless you count sleeping. By my brief calculations I've spent close  to 60,000 hours sleeping. I'm definitely a master at sleeping. But I'm not a master at anything else. I've put thousands of hours into reading, writing, video games, school, sports and all  of the other things that I fill my life with, but I've spread them out so much that I'm not a master at any one thing. It's almost disappointing to think that if  I would have figured this out when I was much younger, I could be a professional...something already. Musician. Artist. Sports player. Writer. Skateboarder. Comedian. Unfortunately, I'm not.

I can become good at anything that  I put my mind to. I know it sounds cliche, but it's true. I've  done it before. Unfortunately, there literally isn't enough time in my life to become a master at all of the things I want to master. I have a long list. Maybe I'll knock a few of them out before I grow old and wither away.

Acting

I've taken quite a few acting classes, 4 to be exact. I've learned a lot in regards to theater and how to behave on stage: the way to stand, the way to think, the way to prepare--things people who hadn't acted would never have thought of. It's quite complicated.

Stage acting isn't easy. It's draining. It's tiring. It's a lot of work. It's stressful. But it's exhilarating. I'm not sure why. It's a rush to be up there in front of everyone, doing private things in public places. That's what actors do; we put things that people wouldn't witness in real life out in the open for everyone to see. Maybe that's why some people go to  the  theater; not simply for a laugh, but for a free glimpse into the lives of other people. A longing to see if they aren't alone. And while the characters on the stage may be imaginary with  fake problems, the audience is still seeing a glimpse of the play write's mind nonetheless.

It's kind of funny, my process the day of a show. I'm not nervous  at all when I wake up. I get up and get ready to go to rehearsals. I'm more worried about  forgetting props  than anything. Rehearsals start for  the day. A long day of rehearsals. Whatever. No difficulty keeping down a  meal before the show. T-10  minutes, no problem. My colleagues are pacing and reciting their lines; I'm  sitting bored. One minute to go, heart rate still  steady. Ten seconds, A  yawn perhaps. But the first  step on the stage, the first thing that always goes through my mind "Matt, what the hell are you doing?" That's  the exact same sentence that went through my mind the exact moment I pushed my weight forward and free-fell out of a plane. I can't believe I do this for fun.

If only you could see inside my mind as I act. There is almost nothing going on. It's kind of  an animalistic instinctive feeling--like something is taking over my body. Occasionally I'll get a thought that is my own, but they are few and far between and very brief. Usually the  thought is, "Oh crap, I have no idea what my next line is..." and somehow, whether by muscle memory  or my brain just dredging it up at the very last nano-second, it just  comes rushing out. My mouth says it and I breath a sigh of relief that I didn't ruin the show.

On the stage you can't see anything. The crowd is just a mass of shapes hidden by a blinding light. It's like being in a tinted glass cage where everyone can see in but you can't see out. It's almost easy to forget they are there. Almost. In fact, they aren't supposed to be there. Sure, there are some sketches where the actors interact with the audience or  give them soliloquies, but aside from the rare exception, the audience are viewers  not participants. They are supposed to watch as you make yourself vulnerable. You aren't acting for them, you are acting for your partner. Actually, you aren't acting at all; you are living in someone else's body in their life for those brief moments,  seeing the choices they make and helping them make those choices.

These characters that I take on are people too. It's hard to explain. They are imaginary and short-lived, but they have feelings, a past, hopes, dreams,  depression, and crap that they have to  deal with, just like me. They get bored, frustrated, nervous, curious, confused and angry, fall in love and want revenge--just like me. Sometimes you wonder why these people are doing what they are doing; why they aren't doing what you want--you can't control them though because they make the choices for themselves, even if you don't think  they are the best choices. Sometimes you want to scream at them "What were you thinking! I don't understand you and I want  to!" but it's useless because they just don't get it and they don't care what you think. It sucks to invest so much time and energy into someone who doesn't get it, doesn't care, and for all practical purposes won't exist in a little while. At the same time, I can be any of them and not worry about what someone thinks about what they say or do because it's not  ME saying it--it's them. It's difficult to surrogate for them, but a privilege.

Looking back, I'm still not sure why I act. I'm not doing it for fame, and  I don't get  paid.

Perhaps even through all the difficulties, it's just easier to be someone  else with all their crap than to be myself.

Or maybe it's easier to walk in someone else's shoes than my own. I don't think anyone could play me.

Being A Creeper

I do have to keep telling myself this, but: No, I'm not a creeper. Of course, who really thinks they are a creeper? It takes a really creepy person to acknowledge that they are a creeper, and then not care. Anyway, the point is: everyone has some creepy qualities that they probably don't think about, but other people look at and think...eew. To you and me, our habits are normal, but sometimes we need an outside eye to show us where to draw the line.

I first realized it last week after reading a novel for class. In the novel, "40 Signs of Rain" there is a character who sees a woman who he thinks would be a suitable mate for reproduction (he thinks this because he sees she has strong legs that would be ideal for outrunning predators on the savanna--I kid you not) so he follows her for a while. He didn't even have any intentions on his mind, he just wanted to follow her. He follows her so long that eventually they end up in an elevator together alone. If you want to know what happens next you'll have to read it.

Anyway, When reading this scene in the book, I didn't really think much of it. I kind of read it just like another plot point and continued. I was surprised, however, to get to class and find the teacher making such a huge deal about what a creeper this guy was. I guess when you stop and think about it--it is a little bit strange to go out of your way to follow someone that you've never met, just because you think they are attractive. On the other hand, I'm not sure if it's any less creepy to follow someone  that you DO know. The point was--I just read through it and didn't find it creepy until someone else pointed it out to me; it made me wonder what some creepy habits I might have that go unnoticed. 

I can't say that I've actually ever followed someone random down the street, let alone get in an elevator with them, but I think my biggest catalyst to creepiness would be Facebook. I'm not even sure how it starts. I might be on the "people you may know" page, or see a picture of someone who looks familiar on a friends profile, and then I'll click it. And then I'll check out some of their pictures, and see another familiar name or face and before you know it, I've found the profile of some random person in Iowa and I'm reading their quote wall, or trying to figure out their religious beliefs, political preferences, and their hobbies. I'll never message them, or meet them, or even see them, but I think I just like finding out about people.

I know that when we look at ourselves, we tend to let certain flaws or characteristics slide as opposed as when we judge others. Well, with some things I judge myself more harshly, but that is a general rule of thumb.  Maybe I do need to tighten up the bolts on my creepiness before it gets out of hand and someone notices. 

But anyway, I guess it comes down to it. I'm a creeper. 

A Letter

Hey Future me, whats up dude!?!

I know you are very wealthy and good looking, intelligent and popular, and think I'm kinda weird, but unless you've changed into a jerk, I know you can read over this like you are getting a letter from an old friend. I'm a friend for my part at least. I mean, I really hope you haven't changed into a jerk--that would ruin almost everything that I've striven for so far in my life. I've written you letters before, and  whenever I've gotten them I've always just skimmed them non-nonchalantly and thought they were pretty awkward and a little bit stupid. I shake my head because past me was so petty and immature. I know you won't judge me like that though because I'm more mature now than when I read those letters before, and I know that you are more mature than I am now.

Writing to you sucks because I can tell you anything and everything in an attempt to get it off my mind, but this relationship is kinda one-sided because you never write me back. I really wish you would. I'm sure the laws of physics will be able to be broken by the time you get around to this so it shouldn't be a problem.

I know there is that witty remark about how the destination isn't as important as the journey--yea, yea--but I really just wish you could share some of your wisdom with me! How did you do it man? How did you make it to where you are now? I could really use some of those nuggets you have attained over the years. How did you let go of the things that shouldn't have been dwelt on, and forget the things that were unimportant? I hate to be burdening you with all my crap--I'm sure that you've got some of your own to deal with, but I wish you could just let out one of your little laughs that you do, pat me on the back and tell me that it's not going to be so bad. Everything that I worry about now is pretty insignificant to the problems that I'll face coming up. Ugh, That's not much of a consolation. But in the same way that I thought it was the end of the world if I missed  a homework assignment in high school, and thought it was more of the end of the world if I failed a test in college, I know that you will be able to tell me with certainty that everything going on now isn't going to be an issue at all. It will work itself out.

Please. Just tell me it will work out for the best. That's all I want to know. And maybe a lotto number or great novel idea.

I can't really explain this. I know I don't have to though, because you've already been here. You know what it's like.

Your best bud,

Matt

P.S. I'd appreciate an answer pretty soon. I know you will be able to time it so I get it in the minute or two before I send this, with all the capabilities of physics in the future. I'm not into the whole delayed gratification thing so it would be awesome if I could get a reply before I even send this off. Even though I consider myself a very patient person, sometimes it's hard to keep everything in check.

[Date xx/xx/xxxx Confidential: Matt Struven] A reply

Hey Matt!

I've had to call in quite a few favors to do this. Especially the "pre-other post" bit that you threw in there; you are so difficult sometimes. You and your little cry for help has cost me quite a pretty penny, but this should arrive right on time. Actually, it's slightly illegal too, so don't go telling anyone what I did. The character limit on this letter is pretty small because the technology is relatively new. I shall be brief on this one and hopefully when the technology matures a little bit I will be able to send you a longer, more in-depth one in the future. Of course, you will actually be in the future by then, so you will be the one writing this to your past self, like I am doing now. (But un-illegally of course) (It's confusing, don't worry about it. This is why you chose to be an English Major, remember!)

No, I'm not a jerk, I'm rather awesome (In the most humble way possible), but I think if I told you how everything turned out, it would ruin your life. You would become complacent and let everything fall into your lap. You might even ruin the future that you have by missing out on opportunities with the thought that everything will turn out fine. My only words to you are that nothing is certain; even what you have been told is certain  is not. People and circumstances change all the time, and the littlest choice can have the most profound effect. You already know this, but I need to reiterate it because in times of sorrow you sometimes feel complacent about your choices. 

You need to work for what you want and find people to invest in who will take care of you no matter what. Be strong and move on from the dead things in your life that do you no good. I can't tell you how, you have to figure it out for yourself. If I help the butterfly out of his cocoon, the blood won't have gotten forced into his now useless wings by the difficult endeavor, and he will die alone on the ground; so much potential wasted. 

You screw  up things sometimes, just like  people screw with you sometimes, but the past is the past and there is nothing to be done about it. Forgive, don't hold a grudge. Accept forgiveness and change your ways. Some people cannot be trusted and some people wish only the best for you, but you often don't know which is which until it's too late. 

I'm still not exactly sure what I wanted to hear, but I know that this will help anyway because sometimes you just need to know you aren't alone. 

Your friend,

Matt

P.S.  You live in the computer age. You can edit text right there. You don't need to use 'P.S.' all the time. I know you are trying to be classy and humorous, but get over yourself.

P.P.S Sorry, I'm still a hypocrite. 

P.P P.S. Actually, it does feel kind of good :) 

P.P.P.P.S. Old man's Memoirs. You know what I mean. 

The Funny Side of Life

It's funny, when you think you are going to die. Well, definitely not funny in the moment...but looking back on it, I find it funny. Before you go calling me psychotic and crazy, in this case, funny isn't like "Haha, that was funny and I'm going to laugh" funny;  funny as in... interesting. Intriguing. Now, I've seen people scared before.  Screaming scared. Scared white. Scared and a couple drops of pee came out. I'm not sure if these people weren't convinced they were going to die or not; I  was. I don't tend to freak out in these situations.

It's only happened to me a couple times. Two to be exact, before now. Both were in the water. One, I was ocean swimming in North Carolina and I was super tired cause I'd been at it for a while. All the sudden I realized that I was pretty far out and really far away from where everyone else was and I wasn't making headway into the land because of the current. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn't make any more distance. Well, obviously I'm sitting here writing this so I did end up living--but I thought I was going to fatigue out and not make it in.

The second, water skiing. My dad was driving the boat and I was behind, about to get towed and I found the rope wrapped around me neck and I was getting dragged along while under the surface. I was holding my breath  but I was still getting towed by my head and I had water coming up my nose and into my mouth; obviously I managed to survive that one too.

This last recent one, well I just couldn't breath. No particular reason. I stood there for a good 30 seconds gasping to no avail; I probably looked like a fish, standing up, arms above my head, mouth open. Finally, I got the  breath. Events  like this had been happening for a week or so, and I'd even been  suddenly waking up at night unable to breath. Finally I got another breath, and another, and calmed down a little bit. After I had stabilized, I sat down and thought to myself, "I probably won't live through the night." And I didn't care.

This isn't to say that I hate living; I still have potential for my life that I want to live out. It worries me that I'm so complacent about dying though. After I had the thought of mortality, I sat down and kept doing my homework. So much for epic "last night on earth" scenarios  that I've played with my friends over and over in the past. Well, I'm not sure if I was complacent or...peaceful. Sure, in a moment before death there can be the initial physical shock of pain, or the panic because of water in the lungs or a lack of oxygen; my body was gasping, but mentally I was...peaceful. Unworried. Maybe because I know that everyone dies. Maybe because I realize if I'm meant to die then I'm meant  to die and nothing is going to stop it, and if I'm not meant to die, then I'm not going to die.

I went to the ER. Apparently there is nothing wrong with me. Tell my body that--it's the one that still can't breath. Maybe I will die in my sleep tonight, or the next night, or the next, and I've simply been writing my future down on the page. I did finish my homework tonight  though, and what a better way to spend a last night on earth than by leaving the last thoughts of my brain on a website for everyone to see. I hope all my grammar and spelling are correct.

Of course, to quote the Joker, "...in their last moments,  people show you who they really are."

What does  this tell me about who I am?

Meeting New People

Think about all the people that you know. No, not all at once; just a few. Think about the ones that are closest to you. Except your blood family. Choose a couple of the most important ones and think about how you met them. Choose the  ones who have influenced you as the person that you are, and the choices that you have made in your life.

Perhaps you met them at:

Work
School
Church
Neighbors
A friend's house

Maybe you don't even remember, but more often than not, you met these people in a place you wouldn't normally associate with meeting people, or in a situation you wouldn't have imagined.

Growing up  in  my home town for 23 years, I had quite a base of people that I knew. Everywhere that I went I would see people that I knew and that knew me. Every time I would go to the store I would see someone I knew working, or walking around, and just driving places I was bound to see a familiar face on the road.

No longer. I go to the store now and don't get  a glance from anyone. I don't see people that I know when I go to the park, or stop at the gas station. I definitely took it for granted. I don't know anybody in this town, and I don't know how to meet them. I mean sure, I had 23 years to work on it in my home town and I don't expect to be the most popular guy on the street within two weeks; I think it will take AT LEAST a month.

I have a friend who was selling a small dresser on Craigslist. Last week he got married to the girl who showed up to buy it. Another friend who was running a marathon in place of someone who had registered but was unable to. He is now married to a  girl he met there.

There are no places conducive to just MEETING people who are looking to be met though. You kind of just have to live your life and hope that some good ones pop up. You can't think, "Today I'm going to meet my best friend" and then just go find them. You never know when you are going to meet someone who changes the course of your life and diverts your path in new directions. If that's not one good reason to shower and brush your teeth every day, I don't know what is.

Take the Hit

Sometimes life just hits you with a fast ball when you were ready for the curve and there isn't much you can do about it. You had been practicing all your life and getting better at hitting those curves and suddenly it's not what you expect. You realize a little too late that you're kinda screwed, but you swing anyway. Sometimes you miss, and sometimes you get a home run.

I had a curve ball recently. I didn't miss, and I didn't hit a home run. I guess that line drive just out of reach of third gave me enough time to get safely to first. We'll see what happens though. I'm sliding into first but the baseman might already have the ball.

At least I swung though. I could have just given up and taken the strike. And then another strike, and then another. They add up quick and before you know it, you're out. You never know when your next chance up at bat will be. Perhaps it's the last inning; perhaps not. Too bad you aren't guaranteed 9 innings at life so you never know.